


of faith in the faithless

by cinderfell



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: (like extremely vague), (ripley is in this but not enough to warrant a character tag lmao), And All The Forms That It Takes, Discussions of Faith, Episode 104, F/M, vague depictions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 19:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11447169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderfell/pseuds/cinderfell
Summary: His distrust of the gods as a whole was a slow build of all sorts of things of course, not just those unanswered prayers in the dark, but standing in front of a god that he feels betrayed by... well. It’s hard not to think about those prayers.Percy doesn't believe in the gods but that doesn't mean he's without faith entirely.





	of faith in the faithless

**Author's Note:**

> i've had a bunch of headcanons about percy, pelor, and percy's complicated relationship with faith for a long time, and episode 104 dragged them all to the forefront.
> 
> and of course, thoughts about his faith in a certain ranger.

It’s amazing what someone can be reduced to when they have everything taken away from them, as Percy discovers as he lays strapped to a table beneath Whitestone and under Anna Ripley’s knife. **  
**

_Please,_ he thinks before he can stop himself, the blood beginning to drip down the side of his arm where Ripley presses the blade against his skin. It starts as silent begging, not to anything or anyone in particular but just to the universe itself. And then it’s something else, something different. He reaches out to the image his mind summons, to the image of a golden sun and its protection. _I have never been one of your faithful and we both know that, but I’m asking for your help now._

It’s a quiet prayer, one born of desperation when he realizes that his torturer has taken an interest in him, that he won’t be disposed of quite as quickly as he thought. Percy has always been prideful and stubborn. He’s gone to religious ceremonies with his family before but he’s never believed-- and of course he knows the gods exist, there’s proof enough of that in the world and as bad as his vision is Percy certainly isn’t blind, but he doesn't _believe_. But here, his pride stripped from him and hope broken down, he clings to anything, even praying to a god he’s never believed in.

He’s met with deafening silence.

* * *

Another day passes.

 _Please_ , Percy thinks again, even his prayers growing weaker under the stress of Ripley’s attention.

“Please,” he says out loud this time, voice cracked and dry, sounding much younger than he is.

Ripley hovers above him, into his line of sight but blurred, having plucked his glasses from him not long after she started to take an interest in him. Even out of focus, her gaze is piercing and cool, a twinkle of amusement in those merciless eyes. “Why, Percy, you’re such a clever boy, surely you must know that begging won’t work on me?”

It almost hurts to speak. “Not you,” he says finally, slowly.

For a moment her thin eyebrows pull together, a look of perplexity flickering across her face. Then annoyance, clearly not happy with his words.

She hasn’t hurt him today, not yet, but now she takes a blade and presses it into his shoulder blade hard enough to make him scream.

The heavens are silent against the sound of Ripley cutting into him, at the sound of his throat being made raw and bloody from his unanswered cries.

* * *

_Please._

The words rings in his mind as he sits in the cage Ripley’s pushed him in, his limbs bound together with chains and manacles as he stares up through the bars at the ceiling of the dark dungeon she’s converted into her workshop of sorts. He’s grown almost used to the fuzzy haze plaguing his mind now, drifting away into his own little world the more and more it seems like he’s going to die down here-- but not before Ripley takes him apart, figures out what makes him tick, then breaks him down.

It’s the fourth night down here. He’s not sure the time, not when he can’t see the sky, but he assumes it’s night by the fact that Ripley has gone to bed. He hasn’t seen his family since he was dragged through the halls and down the staircase the night of the coup and even then-- the bodies, some of them wearing the fine clothing and colors marking them as de Rolos, some of the bodies small--

Percy feels a lurch in his stomach and barely bites it down, if only because he’s trapped in this cage and there’s nowhere to scoot if he ruins it with his own vomit.

 _Please,_ he thinks again. _If not for me then for the rest of them. The little ones. They’ve done nothing wrong, we-- we all have done nothing wrong, I just don’t understand, if you can help us then why don’t you? If you’re so powerful and kind then why aren’t you here? Why am I down here and why are they-- who knows where the rest of them are, maybe I’m the last one left._

Percy bites down on his bottom lip hard enough to bleed. There’s always been desperation to his prayers, but now in his exhausted state it’s begun to give away to anger, anger at the complacency of a god who’s supposed to protect the good; a god who supposedly watches over this city and his family.

_But why are the Briarwoods still here? And Ripley? Anders? Where is your supposed righteous fury? Your retribution? Your light in the darkness? Because I’m in the dark right now and I see nothing. Absolutely nothing._

Silence.

Percy stops praying.

* * *

There’s a brief time where Percy thinks his prayers, as abruptly ended as they were, are being answered.

Cass, Cassie, _Cassandra_ , the youngest of all of them, sneaks into Ripley’s workshop on the seventh night and pulls him from the cage. He doesn’t question where she learned to pick a lock, but even at a time like this he can’t help but laugh somewhere in the back of his mind as he thinks about all the times he found his workshop unlocked and wondered who did it. He’s not sure how she’s still alive - he’d guessed he was the last of them - but he’s grateful, briefly wondering if perhaps the Dawnfather was listening after all.

Any newfound faith, as tentative and distant as it may be-- or at the very least a hesitant appreciation-- is scattered the moment the arrows sink into Cassandra’s back as they run, and suddenly Percy feels more alone than he ever was in that cage.

* * *

Percy can’t help but think of those empty prayers as he stands in the palace of the Dawnfather himself, staring down at the floor reflecting the brilliant light of the star perched between the god’s shoulders as a cold rage brews inside him.

(His distrust of the gods as a whole was a slow build of all sorts of things of course, not just those unanswered prayers in the dark, but standing in front of a god that he feels betrayed by... well. It’s hard not to think about those prayers.)

Vex took his challenge, stepped forward because she felt something, felt she was meant for the role Pelor was offering. How could Percy blame her for that? She’s hardly his to control, betrothed or not, and her life is her own. He respects that, respects her unwavering bravery and desire to sacrifice for the greater good.

Pelor, on the other hand--

Well. Percy has a lot of things he resents the supposed patron god of Whitestone, _protector_ of Whitestone for. He barely held back a snort when Pelor said he protects the city, stifled only by Vex’s hand in his and the knowledge that they need Pelor’s help.

Percy is a practical man, and even he knows when to keep his mouth shut.

But Vex, Vex is gone-- vanished in a blaze of fire and an explosion of stained glass-- and suddenly Percy doesn’t feel very practical at all.

Will he really lose someone again? Will he really lose her for good, like this of all ways? Because she was brave enough and selfless enough to step forward? To throw herself into the fire like some sort of hero from the books he used to read when he was younger?

Is this really how he loses the woman he loves? To the god who’s supposed to protect his city, who supposedly smiles down on his lineage and the people who make Whitestone a place worthy of the Dawnfather himself?

He lost his family to the god’s complacency, to his refusal to stop the events that transpired years ago, events that set these in motion and helped raise evil incarnate to near godhood, and soon godhood itself.

But if she dies, if Vex falls to the god’s flames--

That means Pelor killed her, doesn’t it? It certainly seems more direct than simply allowing people to die, at least to Percy.

The Dawnfather seems unconcerned with the woman who just jumped into his fire at his command, instead turning to look at all of them. Percy feels a cold, hungry anger beginning to grow in his stomach at the god’s apparent disregard for Vex’s life, only stilled by Pelor’s voice ringing out, reaching deep into Percy’s form.

_“What does she mean to you?”_

His fingers find the ring he keeps tucked in his pocket, runs over the smooth band he meticulously forged himself to match the one he had commissioned for Vex, not quite as refined and a little rough around the edges but - well, that’s Percy, isn’t it?

The star between the god’s shoulders shifts ever so slightly, the beacon of light settling on each of them. The others speak of the ranger, of how she brings them together, of how she’s an example of good in so many ways, and Percy twists the ring in his grasp, half pushing it onto his finger in reassurance.

Keyleth says the gods demand reverence, and maybe that’s true, and for as much as Percy is rattled by the gods, he knows about reverence. Of course he does. Maybe once he didn’t, but now, because of Vex, because of his beloved...

Pelor’s eyes shift to Percy, and he knows even if he can’t see the god’s actual face beyond the burning star of his head. _What does she mean to you?_

So Percy clears his throat and clutches the ring in his pocket and talks about reverence.


End file.
